Shear Magic!: The Diary of Draco Malfoy
by celestinne
Summary: *Chapter 6* Shear Magic! is all about hair, beauty, and the fabulous Draco Malfoy, whose underground life as a bachelor stylist takes a new turn as Severus Snape's makeover becomes his ticket to stardom. Bizarre circumstances and hilarity ensue. AU, D/H
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Special thanks to my beta, the mad mermaid, for pointing out my errors and giving valuable critique! 

Chapter 1

**August 8, Saturday**

I've just purchased an amazing (and illegal) unicorn horn quill from a street vendor. The more you write with it, he said, his good eye twinkling at me, the more it brings you good luck!

Sure, the quill's stubbiness makes it an absolute pain to use—Mother Nature's way to prevent people like me from using horns as a writing instrument, I believe—but what a steal! It cost me a mere 199 galleons tax-free, which, to put in perspective, is equivalent to the cost of a Harry Potter photograph, signed and sealed with a kiss, tax-free!

Do not ask me why I know this!

Anyways, just look at the rich flow of the ink!

Draco Malfoy, Esquire

King Draco Malfoy

Miss Draco Malfoy

Miss Draco Malfoy-Potter

Master of the Universe Draco Malfoy

Good fortune awaits!

**August 9, Sunday**

While searching for my stash of specially labeled notebooks down the dungeons this morning (I used to like writing in there—the evil air gave my DADA essays a special kind of edge), I have had the chance to revisit my journals back from my years in Hogwarts. While my writing abilities evidently blossomed at quite an early age, it seems as if I've only exercised my craft during times of great loneliness and distress. Most of my entries, I painfully admit, read as such:

_Dear Journal,_

_Today, the Gryffindor team has once again won the Quidditch Cup. _

_I am a failure! What is wrong with me? I drank protein shakes 'til I pissed cream! I painstakingly shaved off all of my body hair, including down there, to minimize my wind resistance! I even resorted to doing some shameful things with that Cormac MacLaggen so that he could throw the game in our favour! _

_FOR NOTHING!_

_Now, the whole house is tormenting me for our loss, and Harry Freaking Potter is in the spotlight again! Boo hoo, I got a pretty scar and beautiful green eyes and pouty lips! I am miserable and alone, even when I'm flanked by a weasel and a mudblood 24/7! Notice me!_

_Grr I am so MAD!! _

_-end-_

I've put most of the journals to flames, but have kept a single notebook for sentiment's sake. It's the one wherein I wrote, in alarming detail, about my midnight trysts with Dean Thomas in the Room of Requirement (Dumbledore's Army, I thank you), the first time I smoked fairy weed (Ravenclaw Common Room with the half-dressed Patils, 5th year), and my first (and only!!) encounter with "magic love beads". If anyone wants to ruin me, this notebook should be the key to do it.

(Note to self: find a good place to hide that notebook.)

Anyways, good luck should come knocking any minute now—pity the unicorn who was slain for my sake—and until then:

I have a promising career as a stylist!

I have a salon—bought with my own, hard-earned inheritance!

I am talented in many other things, such as Potions, impressionist painting, playing the piano, and hopscotch!

Business is good, and the clientele shady… but adventurous!

I have more money than I know what to do with!

Blaise is letting me in for free today at his recently opened brothel, The Pleasure Coven!

So life, as it is, is still marvelous!

**August 10, Monday**

Too bad The Pleasure Coven doesn't cater to men of my tastes. Otherwise, last night would have been pretty wild; Blaise didn't hold back with the variety of equipment, if you know what I mean!

I wish he didn't skimp on the costumes, though. The poor girls' thongs were as thick as floss!

If only my salon could bring in as many excited customers… Maybe if I hire a couple of window dancers, like the ones in Amsterdam?

Must stop now. I've got a massive hangover; Blaise made me taste-test all his drinks, as he's too cheap to hire a properly trained bartender.

**August 11, Tuesday**

Severus is coming to visit tomorrow, and I was so excited upon reading his owl that I literally ripped my trousers while jumping for joy!

The last time I saw him was during my graduation party five years ago. He was in the study, "choking on a hors d' oeuvre" and in the process of "being saved" by my late father. On the couch. Naked.

I try not to think about it too much.

Anyways, Severus quickly left "to discover new potions…or something…in another country" after that and I never saw him again.

In his owl he said he wanted to see how I was coping. I've been on my own since my father passed away shortly after that incident (allegedly poisoned with arsenic by an irate business associate) and my mother went away (to forget the loss with your Uncle Herman, she said).

Well, I can't wait. I'm beginning to forget what he looks like, but I am quite certain that he's long overdue for a makeover.

**August 12, Wednesday**

I forgot—Severus still doesn't know I'm gay!

(Unless of course he subscribes to WANDS, where I had a Mister November spread!)

How will I break the news to him? Will he even mind?

_Lunch_

I bought some sturdy ferns and a talking moose head from the Weasley Supermart to replace the existing flora, which as of this morning consisted of hydrangeas and peach roses in 17th century ceramic pitchers. Severus, as I recall, also hates anything feminine (does this mean he likes anything masculine?).

Anyways, on my way home, I realized two matters:

The frills on my work apron have to go if I were to survive tonight, and

My everyday life is dependent upon the Weasley siblings, as I buy from their groceries, their pharmacies, their supplies shops, and their clothing outlets all the time!

How the wheels have turned!

_Evening_

Makeover success! Severus now looks like a PlayWitch model with his double-layered, just-shagged hair, and the blue black tones do wonders for his entire-life-spent-indoors complexion!

If I weren't his godson/student/400 years younger than him, I'd do more than tousle his locks, if you know what I mean!

Results like this don't come cheap (10 galleons for the cut, 15 for the dye job, 3 for the back massage), so he'll be well pleased to know that I'm waiving his fee.

Anyways, he must've got injected with too much sedative. It's been 5 hours and he still hasn't woken up yet.

_Midnight_

I just had a short nap, wherein I had a nightmare/kinky dream about a talking moose head. Severus is still not awake, and is drooling on my seat covers!

Just to make things clear, should this account be used as evidence in court, I didn't force him to get his hair done. He looked like he wanted to get rid of his miserable, ugly mop ever since the dawn of time, and I simply acted upon his implicit wishes!

And I did not bind him with the arm straps, nor was I the one who gagged him with a silk kerchief! My house elf Brianna did that!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**August 13, Thursday**

I had to leave the salon in incompetent elf hands as I rushed Severus to the Arthur Weasley City Hospital. The young nurse who interrogated me when I arrived was not too bright, so my obvious lies passed her "screening" with flying colours!

A part of our conversation went as follows:

Nurse: So, you said you injected this man with a sedative yesterday afternoon?

Me: Yes… I mean, NO! …my house elf did.

Nurse: Your house elf!! Why would it do that?

Me: Uhm, I… ordered it to give Severus a _digestive_, and it misheard me…?

Nurse (putting her clipboard down): Oh, I just love digestives! The chocolate-covered ones are my*absolute* favourite!

So…there. You can imagine how that went.

Neville Longbottom, to my surprise, was assigned as Severus' attending physician. He looked like an elongated version of his younger self—still a cross between a hobgoblin and a doorknob—but thankfully, his horrible speech impediments are gone.

Though his bespectacled eyes spelled _"revenge at last!"_ as soon as he saw Severus' rather pitiful state, Longbottom still treated his hated professor with amazing professionalism. Sure, he examined Severus' mouth using an anal probe instead of a big flavoured popsicle stick, but I'd like to think that he did this in good fun!

Anyways, he told me that Severus tested positive for "14 different chemicals that correspond with the properties of an expired animal sedative". Though the offense against the patient was "not undeserved", he said, he was still considering alerting the authorities about the incident.

With a pale face (and a slight loss of bladder control!), I nervously told Longbottom the real version of the story. I had a feeling that he would better empathize with a tale that involves Snape having to be gagged and hexed several times, and, thank Merlin, I was right! In the end, he agreed not to report anything as long as I give the go-signal on treating Severus with the experimental (a.k.a. dangerous) Cruciatus II. FYI, it's a _forgivable_ version of the curse, but still so painful, it can take patients out of a year-long comatose.

Between the possibility of paralyzing Severus for life and being imprisoned in a filthy cell for life, I preferred to risk the former. Longbottom performed the curse himself, and a tad too gleefully might I add; his manic laughter, along with Severus' bloodcurdling screams, could be heard all the way from the waiting station.

Thank Merlin he hit Severus with a memory loss charm afterwards!

Afterwards, Longbottom said that he will come by the salon next week so that I could do something about his bald spots. While I can't afford to turn down a client—especially one so well-connected with _other_ men who have bald spots—I admit that I still dread the meeting so.

It would remind me of my own thinning hair, caused by years of using copious amounts of product.

Sigh. (_Yes, _I am permitted to sigh on parchment!)

Anyways, Severus is now in one of the guest rooms nursing a "concussion", caused by "falling off a stool". He yelled threats at me the rest of the night for giving him blue hair and "schoolboy bangs", which I accepted meekly. I was _clearly_ not in the position to answer back!

Imagine what he'll do to me when he finds out everything that has happened!

* * *

**August 14, Friday**

Severus is still in the manor, resting. He also refuses to go out looking like "a homosexual version of Harry Potter".

As if he'll ever look as good!

He is currently holed up in the study, browsing our books and "secretly" looking at pictures of my father.

In other news, I told Blaise about the whole catastrophe yesterday in an attempt to cheer him up (at my expense). He just found out that his best girl, Tatiana, has the clap, which means that his profits tonight will be down by close to 50%!

I offered to colour his hair for free, as I had some Blueminous and Seriously Black dye mix left over from Wednesday, but he'd rather me dye his girls' "hair down there" to help with the customers.

Silly Blaise!

* * *

**August 15, Saturday**

Accepted a windfall from Blaise, who made more dirty money last night than he usually does in a week!

Now he's making me dye his "hair down there" as well!

(Sigh. The things I do for my friends.)

We will celebrate _our_ success by taking Severus out for supper tonight at Cabo, a newly opened restobar along Hogsmeade. We managed to persuade Severus to come out (from hiding, not from the closet…yet) after Blaise told him how his "ugly mug neutralizes the supposed awesomeness of his hair".

Why Severus seems to thrive on being as physically unattractive as possible, I really don't know.

--

_Evening_

We ran into Terry Boot and Ginny Weasley at Cabo!

Terry saw us first, and would have successfully ducked into a corner unseen had it not been for his obnoxiously coquettish date, who waved us over after seeing her "favourite professor" and insisted on joining our table.

Ginny's behaviour may have something to do with Severus' new look, and the fact that Harry Potter broke off their 3-year engagement a couple of months ago. I know this because I subscribe to Witch Weekly…as reading material for the salon…and her crying face was plastered all over the cover.

Terry, on the other hand, couldn't contain his snickers upon seeing Severus. At one point, bits of his osso bucco burst out of his nose from laughter, prompting Severus to put a mysterious potion of unknown effects on his juice. In mine as well, Blaise told me.

I'll worry about this later!

Anyways, our conversation during desserts was rather stimulating. Over bananas flambé and Firewhiskey, an inebriated Ginny told Severus that her "his basilisk is welcome in her chamber of secrets", and that she wants him to "fire up her goblet".

I was in the act of suggesting that she "imprisons herself in his Azkaban", when Terry glowered enviously at Severus, telling him that "Harry Potter just owled, and he wants his hairdo back".

Ugh! People _seriously_ need to move on from the Boy-Who-Lived phase!

And think up of new jokes!

Anyways, at around that point in the conversation, Severus had excused himself to go to the men's room, apparently with no intention of ever coming back. Realizing this half an hour later, those of us left said our goodbyes rather awkwardly and started heading for home. I spotted Colin Creevey on the way out, taking paparazzi pictures of Ginny in her drunken state while Terry attempts to cover her up with his jacket.

How the Weasley family continues to prosper is beyond me.

* * *

**August 16, Sunday**

I _cannot_ believe it. A picture of us taken last night made it to The Daily Prophet's Sunday Society section!

The caption read: _Night About Town. Fashion icon and billionaire heiress Ginny Weasley and Gringotts investment banker Terry Boot spotted in London's hippest new restobar, Cabo. They were accompanied by retired Hogwarts professor Severus Snape, who was sporting a chic avant-garde hairstyle, dancer-turned-entrepreneur Blaise Zabini, and a friend._

Harrumph! _A friend, _indeed!

Outraged, I sent an anonymous howler to The Daily Prophet, telling them about their staff's "lack of reportorial talent" and revealing the identity of "the ethereal-looking gentleman in fetching grey pinstripe robes". I also added that Severus' hair was "the work of none other than _this_ overlooked friend", who is "stylist to the stars" (of Pleasure Coven), and is "the owner of the well-known Shear Magic! Hair and Makeup by Draco Malfoy".

--

_Afternoon_

I took advantage of my free day to go out and shop for a new pair of trousers, having ripped my best ones last week. The new ones are so tight, you can tell that the Knut I placed in my back pocket is facing heads. Harhar!

--

_Midnight_

GUH, I just realized that I wrote my supposedly _anonymous _howler on a monogrammed sheet!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**August 17, Monday**

_4:30 am_

Dear Diary, I cannot sleep. After my stunt last night, I just know that I will soon be facing the worst onslaught of hate mail and slanderous gossip to ever hit The Daily Prophet.

"Draco Malfoy Admits He's A Fame Whore", the headlines will say.

Or, "Student Reveals He Gave Former Professor A Shag."

Then, sleazy tabloid writers, all of whom have no idea how to use context clues, will reinterpret this into,

"May-December Affair Began With Bad Hair."

Or, "Pretty Prince Professes Preference For Professors."

…

_I CAN'T WAIT._

6:00 am

Today's headline read, "Giant Singing Pumpkins to Lead Autumn Equinox Parade; Baby Carrot Choreographers Disappointed."

_:(_

Looking at the bright side, at least my erratum is mentioned under an _interesting_ obituary:

"_Bella—beloved daughter and sister. For all the trouble you've caused— may the devil have mercy on you. – Mama, Papa, and Ashley"_

* * *

**August 18, Tuesday**

Two gay Slytherins came in this afternoon, hand in hand, holding up Severus' picture from the daily prophet.

"Snape is, like, god to us.", said the taller one with the pierced cheek. "So we both want the same hair, only, I want mine in purple. Is that possible?"

Doesn't he know anything? It's practically the same procedure!

I decided to milk his ignorance.

"Well… it will be very experimental, and quite a lot of hard work. I may have to charge an extra five galleons."

The two boys looked at each other. "Go for it. We can share my toothbrush for now.", the other one encouraged.

With that settled, I mixed some Seriously Black with some Blueminous, and then with some Purple Nurple and got to work. They were highly satisfied with the results.

Severus will be pissed once he sees his students tomorrow. But he'll get over it, I'm sure.

* * *

**August 19, Wednesday**

(Note to self: buy Howler-destruction system from Weasley's DIY.)

My ears are ringing right now from the verbal fury that Severus unleashed upon me this morning. Had he not Hogwarts duties to attend to, I believe that he would've come in the salon in person and beheaded me with the shaving blade. He yelled so himself.

In response, I sent him a "Freedom of Artistic Expression" cutout from the Wizarding World Bill of Rights booklet.

In other news, Brianna (the house elf, in case you've forgotten) showed me its bed, which it made out of a year's worth of hair clippings.

I am fascinated and horrified at the same time.

* * *

**August 20, Thursday**

Three Hogwarts girls went into my salon today asking for "The Snappy Potter", which is what kids right now are apparently calling Severus's new 'do.

I did not appreciate the Potter reference, but I let it slide. Who was I to argue with success?

"While I'm ecstatic that this joke is catching on…you do know that both Professor Snape and Harry Potter are guys, right?" said Blaise, who was in the salon the whole afternoon terrorizing me with stories of diseases infecting The Pleasure Coven.

I glared at Blaise for making me lose my customers, which prompted him to blush.

"Oh, they're lesbians. Got it." He whispered.

After explaining to the girls that androgyny is in and collecting their extra five galleons _each _("girls' hair is different from guys'_,_ it will be very experimental and quite a lot of hard work"),I once again recreated "The Snappy Potter".

The result? Complete satisfaction, as always.

"Boys will want to go out with me now that I have this fab new look!" enthused the lone Hufflepuff.

"You don't have to hide anymore, girlfriend! Live free!" Blaise cheered to her as they were leaving. He's always been very supportive of young members of the third sex.

* * *

**August 21, Friday**

Neville Longbottom came around this afternoon to address his balding problem. After consulting the Mane Man Magazine and Hair Raiser Monthly for some styling ideas, we concluded that it is better to accept the inevitable and shave off the little hair that remains on his head.

"Maybe you ought to start doing so as well. We aren't getting any younger, you know.", commented Neville.

Dear Merlin, I nearly killed myself.

* * *

**August 22, Saturday**

Now, I don't want to count my lizards before they hatch, but I think I'm possibly on the verge of hair care superstardom. Today, 24 kids came in asking for The Snappy Potter, and I had to whip out my extra waiting chairs and have Brianna run to Weasley Pharmaceuticals for more Blueminous and Seriously Black dye!

If I'm going to be posing for magazine covers and centerfolds anytime soon, then I need to get my legs waxed, stat!

Anyways, this one Gryffindor, whose hair I dyed with a blazing Bloodpop Red with Gringgots Gold highlights, said he's "excited to let his Uncle Harry see his Snappy Potter". I wonder, is he the same Harry that plagues my dreams nightmares every night?

If so, he's in for the shock of his life. BWAHAHA!

(Note to self: have Pansy research on patent and trademark restrictions when concerning hairstyles.)

* * *

**August 23, Sunday**

My only day to relax my aching fingers of pure talent was interrupted when Blaise barged into my bedroom in a crying fit. According to him, last night, someone vandalized the front area of The Pleasure Coven with the words "Little Weenie", in bold, permanent, neon colors.

Not only was it bad for business, but it also hurt Blaise's feelings very much.

"Can't you just paint over it?" I asked him consolingly.

"Stupid stuff won't disappear, no matter what I do! It must be hexed or something." He sobbed.

After much deliberation and unsuccessful spellcasting, we decided to add to the message instead. Now, it reads:

Little Weenie_s Come For Free_

I'm not quite sure if it means what I think it means, but Blaise calls it "niche marketing".

Night

Received two owls, almost simultaneously.

The first one I read was from Ginny, who is apparently, according to her letterhead, VP of Weasley Enterprises, Pharmaceuticals and Personal Care Division.

Her owl read:

_Hi Draco!_

_Just read your profile on Businesscorp Wizarding Trend Review. Snappy Potter is a hoot! We're launching a new designer dye line and would love to have you onboard. Let's have lunch!_

_Best,_

_Ginevs_

First of all, Ginevs sounds like something you contract on a safari, as in, _I got bit by a Griffin during my hunting trip so the mediwitch gave me a Ginevs shot just in case. _She should stop making that nickname happen, seriously._  
_

Secondly, no wonder there were nil articles about me in the daily rags—my appeal is, after all, very high-brow and upper crust! Businesscorp, indeed! What an honor!

I responded to her owl most enthusiastically while ordering Brianna to buy twenty copies of the newspaper. Ginny and I are to meet tomorrow for lunch at Solomon's Ring, a very _discreet_ Persian café offering palmistry services.

Anyways, the second owl I got was from Harry Potter. I could recognize his white owl from anywhere!

It read:

_Malfoy,_

_I want my hairdo back._

_Harry Potter_

To which I replied:

Potter,

_Come and get it, then. My salon is at 65__th __Kraizekut Drive corner Knockturn Alley, beside The Pleasure Coven. _

_Draco Malfoy_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**August 24, Monday**

I left the salon to Brianna today to meet with Ginny, or shall I say, a bad case of Ginevs.

Upon my arrival at Solomon's Ring, I spotted her flaming red hair, cow-print trench coat and hot pink microdress from metres away. Needless to say, diary, my white cotton tunic and cashmere shemag were spectacularly upstaged.

"Draco! So wonderful to see you again!" Ginny exclaimed when she saw me, motioning for me to join her at the table. In front of her, besides a cup of rose-colored tea and a fluffy white quill, was a pile of roti bread marked with notes, flow charts, and mind maps.

"I like writing on food, it's this odd thing I have," she explained, seeing me eye the stack with a mixture of confusion and disgust. "Ron absolutely hates it. He yells at me whenever I give him my inventory reports on toast."

She handed me a particular piece of roti with a rather crude drawing of a woman's head. "This will be the logo for Redhedde, our upcoming designer dye line," she said.

"It's very modern." I commented. To be honest, I've seen better-looking food stains.

Ginny, pleased at my "compliment", preened. "It should be. After all, the Redhedde brand will be the icon of everything that's hip, trendy, and now. Actually, that is where you, Draco Malfoy, come in."

My ears perked up at the sound of my name. "What do you have in mind, Ginevs?"

"Well, seeing as you were able to transform such a drab-looking man like Snape into this year's most beloved sex symbol since, ugh, Harry Potter "

(Her words, not mine!)

" as well as set a growing trend for gullible youngsters everywhere, I was wondering if maybe you could do your magic for Redhedde."

After this, more rotis were leafed through, detailing Weasley Pharmaceuticals and Personal Care Division's "hyper aggressive marketing plan" for the next two years.

Diary, I couldn't care less about hearing their company's target profit margins nor shelf placement strategies. In fact, I was quite renowned in the Slytherin house for my selective listening skills. Hence, the only points that registered during our whole 3-hour meeting were:

1.I would be rolling in even more Galleons in the next ten years,  
2.I could have major creative control over all Redhedde dyes that would be released, and signature, face, and hair would be emblazoned on all Redhedde bottles and advertisements.

HAIR CARE SUPERSTARDOM HERE I COME!

Now, if only Harry Potter would finally show up in the salon like I told him to. I can't wait to rub this piece of news in his face!

"Ha, Potter, I'm worthy of you now!" I'd say.

rather, "Ha, Potter, I win at life and you suck!"

Then everything would be perfect!

_Night_

Ginny owled me a copy of the Redhedde contract, thankfully printed on three pages of parchment.

After carefully reading each line, to myself and aloud, and imagining the possibilities that they all held, I came across the following statements:

"The individual Severus P. Snape should agree to represent the Redhedde Designer Dyes brand as head model and endorser."

Aghast, I read further:

"Refusal of Severus P. Snape to perform any and/or all duties stipulated below counts as breach of contract by individual Draco Malfoy "

And further:

"Duties of head model and endorser include blah blah wearing a magical centaur prosthetic as part of a global billboard advertising campaign "

Merlin's beard. The only way Severus will agree to this is

HE WILL NEVER AGREE TO THIS!

**August 25, Tuesday**

Didn't open the salon today, as I am too depressed to even get out of bed. I could hear the clamor of my adoring, miserably-maned public from outside.

After what seemed like an eternity of people knocking and calling out my name, Blaise, screaming like a banshee, ordered me to "open the damn door and help me, Draco, my crabs are eating me alive!"

"Go away, Blaise, I'm not your effing gynecologist!" I yelled back.

I should really start making new friends.

**August 26, Wednesday**

Blaise managed to apparate into my bedroom despite the hard-to-pronounce German security charms I cast.

I guess not even Germans can stop a man with crabs.

"Why can't you go to a hospital like a normal person?" I told him.

"I don't have insurance!" wailed Blaise.

Merlin, what a cheapskate!

Seeing Blaise in agony made me appreciate my life a bit better. So what if I'm not a superstar? I've got looks, talent, money, and a healthy appendage, albeit one that's lacking in action. I should be thankful.

Sigh.

**August 27, Thursday**

Blaise, in return for my "special services", did a good turn and hauled Pansy all the way from Geneva and into the manor to cheer me up.

Last I saw her was six months ago, when she had a curvy waist, a stellar career in international law, and an engagement with Cormac McLaggen. Now, she is single, overworked, and looks like Crabbe in a 5000-Galleon dress.

"It's the chocolate, okay?" said Pansy, though we haven't even said a word (yet). "The office is right next to a blasted Toblerone factory."

We exchanged some pleasantries and gossip over some tea. I asked Pansy about the hairstyle patents, which, according to her, does not even exist. I took further advantage of her legal skills and made her read the Redhedde contract as well.

She "tsked" all the way through, which was good news for me.

"Tell you what," said Pansy, peering at me through her spectacles, "if you get me out of this dumb charity ball thing that I have to attend tomorrow night, I'll make the Weasleys agree on a wicked contract that won't involve poor Severus."

"Deal."

"And if it doesn't pass, well, there's always sedative, yeah?"

Diary, this is why I almost married Pansy.

**August 28, Friday**

_Morning_

Pansy told me that the charity ball that I am to attend in her place is at a clearing in the middle of The Enchanted Forest. She also told me to wear an insect costume, and to arrive at exactly midnight.

She's joking, right?

_Evening_

I have decided to come to the ball later as a dragonfly. I made Brianna tie silver tinsel on my hair and dust 24k gold powder on my eyelids. Blaise also lent me a shimmery, translucent costume from The Pleasure Coven.

Naturally, I charmed the said costume clean ten times before putting it on.

**August 29, Saturday**

_4:30am_

Breaking news: Harry Potter is a SOCIALITE!

And, Pansy's charity ball is actually Harry Potter's party for The Rehabilitation of Amputated MilliPedes (TRAMP)!

And I looked FABULOUS, and Harry conceded that I did not steal his hairstyle (thank you, Pansy)!

I DON'T KNOW WHY I'M WRITING LIKE THIS!

_10:20am_

Ahem.

In a more proper-like manner of storytelling:

I arrived last night at the said clearing, relieved to see insect people waiting outside a huge tent, looking as if they literally crawled out of the woodwork. Oliver Wood, Quidditch legend, was haphazardly dressed as in embarrassingly-tight green leotards and a headband antenna. Hermione, whose bushy hair I immediately recognized, was a ladybug, while Ron came as a jade green beetle.

I was about to make small talk (read: kiss Ron's arse now that he's rich and related to Ginny) when a host of butterflies ushered us all inside the tent. (Isn't that the most impossible sentence EVER?)

The inside was pitch black at first, so there were nervous giggles all around. I was about to spread word about a mass murder conspiracy, when suddenly, multicoloured fairy lights glowed from all around the tent and illuminated what I could only describe as "The Enchanted Forest on Angel Dust".

Blaise would have died from the fabulousness.

Anyways, in the middle of that tent was none other than Harry Potter. He was living proof that even millipedes could look half-decent, if not TOTALLY GORGEOUS.

As we all stood there, spellbound by his peculiarly beauteous form, he began the ceremonies by thanking everyone for supporting his beloved cause, and described the "many hardships" undergone by millipedes as well as TRAMP's vision to "tramp out the red tape and corruption" that surround the millipedes' rehabilitation.

Needless to say, we all applauded his useless speech, and his even more useless cause.

Harry Potter? My former nemesis? The Boy-Who-Lived, hosting flamboyantly decorated parties for causes that no one gives a Knut about? I've always imagined him to become someone of relative importance, like a super-secret Auror, a ministry official, or even a minor league Quidditch player!

And I thought I was pathetic!

Throughout the party, I inconspicuously inched closer and closer to Potter, out of sheer morbid curiosity as to what he has become and, as much as I hate to admit it, blatant physical attraction.

At last, I managed to "bump" into him at the refreshments table. I greeted him with practiced nonchalance.

"Oh, hey Potter."

Which prompted a barrage of unwarranted verbal abuse, directed to yours truly.

"Malfoy! You bastard, what did you do to my nephew's hair? He looks like me, and everyone looks like me now, except in technicolour! Even Snape! You have no right, no right at all to copy my hairstyle and invade my privacy like this! I want you to change back all those stupid haircuts you made and leave me in peace!"

(Before I proceed with the rest of the story, let it be known that I'm also famous in the Slytherin house for my skills in debate.)

My reply, which was heard by a rather large audience:

"I came all the way here to support this cause, and I get attacked by the host himself!"

Hermione and Ron, who immediately sensed trouble between myself and their bespectacled overlord, began shooing away our nosy onlookers, distracting them with embarrassing tales of their Tijuana wedding.

Seeing Potter turn a brilliant shade of red, I added, "And FYI, Potter, my creation has two double-layer cuts, a side fringe, and it comes in all these wonderful colours. Your "hairstyle", which, as far as I'm concerned, is actually an abandoned nest, has NONE of those. So get over yourself!"

After some sputtering, Potter finally managed a half-hearted apology, relating his "breakdown" to "pressure build-up, last-minute band cancellations, and those damned fairy lights".

"You're right. What I just did sorry. Extremely bad manners. Er, I'll make it up to you, yeah? I can treat you to dinner. Anywhere you want," he said, smiling sheepishly.

I scoffed. As if his company qualifies as a reward!

But then, diary, I said yes. Because I'm a sucker for free meals, and because afterwards, he said:

"You look nice, by the way."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**August 29, Sunday**

I have just made reservations for Potter and myself at Gonzo!, which was awarded by Molly Eats Magazine as one of the best and most expensive restaurants this side of the Pacific. I've only eaten there once, when my father was still alive, and the only thing I vaguely remember about that event was him cracking a joke about our bill being large enough to foot the Ministry's debt.

I also owled Potter Gonzo!'s strict dress code, which I attached here:

_Gonzo! Gourmet Churrascaria wishes its guests to comply with the following dress regulations:_

_Trendy cocktail attire required. Please refer to this season's Haute Homme et Femme catalogue as guide._

_Total worth of clothing (jewelry not included) must be equal to the day's gold standard._

_No faux gold, semi-precious stones, or fashion jewelry allowed in the premises._

_Female diners with a body mass index of 23 and above should be in tasteful black robes._

_The manager has the right to refuse entry to guests who do not comply with the abovementioned._

Knowing Potter, he'd probably show up in an ugly Weasley sweatshirt and cut-off trousers from the last decade, so I'll bring an extra trench coat just in case.

6:00pm

Decided at the last minute to give myself a dye job, so I am now a dirty blonde. And not just in terms of hair colour, harhar!

_6:30pm_

Two buttons left undone, or three?

I'm talking about my trousers, by the way.

_7:00pm_

Being fashionably late. Merlin knows why I've got the jitters.

**August 30, Monday**

I had to open the salon today, as closing shop for too many days in a row is bad for business. Hence, my fingers are just about ready to fall off from all the styling, and my weary for Snappy Potter requests heightens at an accelerating rate.

(Note to self: think of the next "It" hairdo, fast!)

Speaking of Potter, well, let's just say that I'm in a right mood today, humming orchestra music while I style and once, belting out "Magic Works" by the Weird Sisters while in the loo.

…in retrospect, it's sort of like how Severus behaved when my late father gave him a chocolate diamond ring "for being a good comrade".

(I think it was my father kneeling that did him in.)

Anyways, last night, in excruciating detail:

I was surprised that Harry and I arrived at almost exactly the same time. He was all military-chic in a navy blue double-breasted robe with gold insignia buttons and deep crimson trousers; I, on the other hand, kept it classy in green velvet robes, a white India silk shirt, black leather trousers, and dragon-hide boots.

(Needless to say, we were a great-looking pair.)

After successfully passing the dress check, I commended his sense of style.

"Oh, this? I got it from Le Petit Prince," he replied.

"A French brand?" I asked, impressed.

"Well, more like a French muggle book illustration," he confessed.

"…I see."

A beautiful Brazilian woman handed us our stop-and-go sign (encrusted in rubies and emeralds, no less) and seated us at our table, right in front of the carnivale show onstage. As we were waiting for the churrascaria to appear on our plates, we whispered our drinks of choice—Potter, a caipirinha with two limes, myself, a cachaça on the rocks—to our designated goblets. Our goblets magically filled, a golden island flower blooming near each of their brims, revealing an engraved coconut straw and a silken drink umbrella.

"What a delightfully expensive place you picked, Malfoy," Potter said dryly as he began to sip his drink.

We chatted aimlessly to break the ice, talking about our schoolmates and professors back at Hogwarts ("Crabbe and Goyle? Two kids, both biological? But…how?") as well as various world affairs ("Americans should be banned in the Wizarding World, period.")

Mid-way through our stuffed hippogriff in macadamia nut reduction, I asked him about his current lifestyle, hoping to get tips on handling bad publicity, boring days, and haters who think you're just a bloody useless trollop.

"Excuse me, but I actually happen to be a very busy person accomplishing very important things," he said, offended.

"Oh, of course. I'm sure the millipedes are forever grateful for your kindnesses towards them," I replied patronizingly.

Harry sputtered. A rather nasty habit, I noticed.

However, as it turned out, he had a lot to sputter about.

"Normally I don't go broadcasting my _real_ job to just anyone, but seeing that my esteem is on the line, I may very well have to," he whispered to my ear.

"Breathe a word about this to anyone, Malfoy, and I'll kill you myself," he warned.

I got a bit excited. I _knew_ he was a super-secret spy, I thought to myself. And if I were to continue associating with him, then I'll be like the wavy-haired lass in the skintight red dress who runs around with him saving the world, like in them muggle James Blond movies!

…anyways.

Potter cleared his throat before proceeding.

"TRAMP is not an organization for millipede rehabilitation, but a funding organization for lobbyists who aim to legalize prostitution in the Wizarding World, thus giving medical cover, union rights, and employment benefits to, ahem, working men and women in our society."

_…what?_

"We just use silly causes to conceal the true purposes of our charity events. This way, our unpopular stands won't have to garner unwanted press and agitate protesters. It was Hermione's idea," he added modestly.

While I sat there, dumbfounded and speechless for some unknown reason, he continued to ramble on.

"This coming Friday, in fact, we will launch People Opposed to Underwear on Fridays, a support group for young homosexuals who experience bullying and discrimination in schools."

I laughed. "TRAMP and POUF? Only Harry Potter can be so heroic and yet so politically incorrect at the same time!"

"These names make it easier for all of us to keep track, okay?" Harry responded hotly. "I'll have you know, BALD, CHAV, and POOR, despite what they're called, are doing very well in terms of meeting their objectives!"

"Fine, fine," I conceded, still shaking in mirth, "And what happens when a person who believes in commando Fridays actually donates to your cause?"

(A legitimate question, since I myself have questioned the extent of casual Fridays.)

"Well, then it serves him right to be fooled by us like that. Not wearing underwear any day of the year is both disgusting and unhygienic!" Potter responded proudly.

Oh, how I laughed!

"So, what you're saying is, you're actually an…undercover do-gooder?" I asked.

Harry thought about it for a moment. "Well, yeah."

Not a super secret spy, dear diary, but close enough.

We left Gonzo! a little before midnight, buzzed with Brazilian alcohol and stomachs filled with delicious meats. Potter had to arrange for a sack of Galleons to be delivered in order to pay our enormous bill. Outside the restaurant, the moon was full, the wind gentle and sweet smelling.

"Thanks for the great dinner, Potter. You are thus forgiven of your heinous crimes against my reputation," I said generously as I walked away.

"Hey, Malfoy," he called after me, "if I were to humiliate you more in public, would you continue going out to dinner with me as recompense?"

Butterflies.

"No," I answered. Seeing him lower his head in disappointment, I added, "But maybe if you remove the humiliation part and just treat me to nice places, then I will reconsider."

Potter beamed at me, stepping closer, reaching out for my hand. "Wednesday lunch, then?"

Again, I'm a sucker for free meals. "Yes. Lunch sounds great."

And then I kissed him.

_~Believe that magic works_

_Don't be afraid of being hurt_

_Don't let this magic die_

_The answer's there, just look in his eyes~_

IT'S MY PARCHMENT AND I CAN SING IN IT IF I WANT, DAMMIT!

**August 31, Tuesday**

Pansy owled this morning regarding the Redhedde contract, as well as some other things:

_Draco,_

_Ginevs (wtf right) won't budge on Severus. She really wants him to be part of this, bad enough to let you off the contract if needed._

_I'll keep you posted. Thanks for going to the ball, btw. Blaise told me all about it since you didn't care enough to do so yourself. _

_Regarding your date with Potter…HE'S GAY? I WANT DETAILS. NOW._

_Pansy_

I can't be bothered to rehash everything, with all the work in the salon, so I just duplicated last night's entry and owled it to her, along with a trashy paperback novel about a pirate and a virgin mermaid. Merlin knows she needs all the romance she can get.

Also, I want to disembowel Ginny and feed her a whole jar of Ginevs, but anyways.

Talking about Vince and Greg the other night made me think of how long it's been since I last saw the two. Their kids must be about 8 and 9 by now. I should really owl them.

Or I'll just ask Blaise to.

Afternoon

I asked Blaise to contact Vince and Greg and arrange a little get-together. Grabbing some of my parchment and his fruity rainbow quill, he said, "Way ahead of you, sister!"

Did he just call me sister?, I thought to myself.

I told him about Potter's TRAMP thing, since he and his girls would probably be interested in supporting the group and providing information, and Blaise said he would consider it.

I sort of like how the pieces of my life are starting to connect.

**September 1, Wednesday**

I am to have lunch with Potter later at Cherry Pop, another Molly Eats Magazine rated restaurant. It's rather disconcerting how we have to rely on Molly Weasley's opinions with regard to where we should take our meals.

Everything is topsy-turvy nowadays, innit? I'm dating Potter, the Weasleys are bloody rich, and Severus is a sex god.

Thank Merlin my father isn't alive to see all of this.

_Afternoon_

My second "date" with Potter exceeded expectations. So much so that I kept a napkin he used as a memento of our time together.

(I'm turning into a girl, save me!)

We talked about Quidditch, rumors that Oliver Wood fashioned his broom after his own appendage (true), gnome hats (passing trend), raccoons (cute, Potter says), virgin mermaids (all mermaids are virgins forever, Potter argues), upside-down mermaids (we both agree: yuck), and wizard dentistry (a doddle), among other things.

For a person who bases his clothing choices on book illustrations, Potter was surprisingly fun and random to talk to.

"So, Potter, since when did you become gay?" I asked him rather brazenly.

"I'm bi, actually. I realized it when I was with Ginny, when I started checking out other guys as well," he chuckled nervously, "I mean, I just think we're free to love whomever we choose, yeah?"

"Yes, I suppose," I said, "you're right."

Even if he was your former arch-enemy?, I thought, ever so melodramatically.

"How about you?" he asked, still nervous.

"I've always known I was gay," I answered. "Hell, half of Slytherin probably is."

"Oh."

We sat silently for a while, picking at our banana splits.

"Hey, Malfoy, do you know that cherries and whipped cream taste better from another person's mouth?" he suddenly asked.

We tried it. And I found out that they do.

**September 2, Thursday**

I GOT IT. The new IT hairdo.

Sideswept, heavily layered bangs, tufts of spiked hair on the top, an extra-long lock on the left, another one at the back, fringed. In STRIPED monochromatic colors, like black and silver, brown and blonde, red and orange, pink and fuchsia.

I call it, "Rockcoon".

I already owled Pansy to tell her the news (it might help with the Redhedde contract), plus, I asked her to be my first "Rockcoon", all fees waived.

I hope she says yes! I just know that the hairstyle will fit her face!

_Afternoon_

She replied:

_Draco,_

_I'm in. Will pop in tomorrow morning after I finish my paperwork._

_Pansy_

_P.S. Tell Blaise to come with. I might drag Vince and Greg along._

HURRAH!

**September 3, Friday**

Vince, Greg, Pansy, and Blaise arrived at the salon early this morning (closed shop again for this occasion), with Vince holding a big bouquet of snapdragons and cherry roses.

"Harry Potter left this on your doorstep. I know, because Blaise told us everything." Greg said, smirking as Vince handed me the flowers. The note said:

_Draco,_

_I can't stop thinking about you (and cherries and whipped cream), so I bought a whole bunch of assorted food and syrups that you might like to try with me (on me?). Pick you up on Sunday morning?_

_Yours,_

_Harry_

Pansy read it aloud, without my permission if I may add, and they all screamed, circling me like drunken vultures.

"DRACO'S GONNA GET SHAGGED!" They teased.

Yes I am, friends, yes I am.

_Afternoon_

Rockcoon Pansy, naturally, was a success. The cut managed to tame her mannish jaw and make her look 15 years younger. She chose the Siriusly Black and Fuchsia You! dyes, a combination I didn't initially recommend, but it suited her punkish appearance well and made her look like a hardcore goddess.

"Our dog Garbage has a spiked collar that would look great on you," Greg said excitedly.

"Greg, Garbage has fleas!" Vince chastised, swatting his arm. "Do you want Pansy to catch fleas?"

"No, I guess not…" Greg grumbled.

"Maybe I'll buy my own, Greg, but thank you for the offer," Pansy replied soothingly.

Such adorable friends.

We ordered French pastries and Rose wine to celebrate. We reminisced old times and talked about Greg and Vince's family life. Greg is still the manager of Fancy Floors, a small tile manufacturing and installation company catering to upscale vacation houses in Bath, while Vince takes care of Sabrina, 9, and Salem, 8. In his spare time, he does freelance photojournalism.

"We're just waiting for the Daily Prophet to get back to us about Vince's biggest investigation yet," Greg told us, clutching Vince's hand.

"It's called, 'The Real Housebands of Bath'!" Vince announced proudly.

Dear diary, I simply cannot make this up.

We said our goodbyes at around 11, with Blaise threatening to sleep over if I didn't promise to owl him on Sunday night with all the juicy details.

Well, let's just say that I myself cannot wait for all of Harry's juicy details! Harhar!


	6. Chapter 6

September 4, Saturday

Pansy, Blaise and I decided via three-way floo to sashay around Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley tonight wearing our best outfits. This will be a chance for me to debut the Rockcoon, for Pansy to show off her rediscovered beauty, and for Blaise to be seen in respectable company, for once.

"Ooh, I wish that that bastard Cormac, stupid Cho, and their yellow lovechild would be there to see me!" Pansy squealed.

Clearly, Pansy was still not over Cormac cheating on her with their realtor Cho Chang, during Cormac's supposed business trip to England. According to Pansy, it was not the cheating that hurt her most, but the impregnation part.

Which probably explains her rather insensitive remark.

"Now, Pansy, let's not be racist," I said.

"But Cho and Cormac's little menace really is yellow!" Pansy replied defensively. "The kid contracted Muggle hepatitis, didn't you hear?"

Trust Pansy to still be at the center of the gossip mill, even if she's all the way in Geneva.

"I bet the poor lad got it from the dirty Chinese food that Cho keeps on feeding them," Pansy adds haughtily, "I heard their egg rolls are made from cats."

"Let's just start planning your outfit, shall we?" I said exasperatingly, interrupting her before she begins to further insult_ a billion people_.

"Right. Do you have anything that's not gold, sparkly, nor encrusted in diamonds?" Blaise asked.

"Er…"

"Something in black, perhaps?" I offered.

"I have a black corset dress dotted in some rubies. Is that okay?"

"We could charm the rubies to match her hair, then I could lend her my black chinchilla robes!" Blaise exclaimed, who was apparently excited to play fashion designer.

"Oh, no way to the chinchilla. Harry would skin me alive, irony intended," I said.

"Ooh, your do-gooder boyfriend's opinion suddenly matters now," Blaise mocked in an annoying sing-song voice. "What's next, you sitting at the Gryffindor table, wearing his red and gold scarf?"

I imagined it briefly—_Harry, sensing the chill in the air, beckoning me to sit closer as he wraps his warm scarf around my neck…_

Blaise's cackle jolted me from my reverie.

"We've graduated from Hogwarts a million years ago, Blaise, don't you recall? Oh, wait, that's right, YOU FAILED YOUR O.W.L.S." I spat evilly.

Little did I know that as Blaise and I verbally sparred (with as much dignity as one can muster while arguing with a fireplace, anyways), Pansy had already selected her outfit and was resplendent in a silken onyx cape with leather straps and silver buckles, a snug plum turtleneck, high-waist, loose-fit slacks, and crushed velvet boots.

"You like it?" Pansy asked, her projected image in the fireplace twirling like a raven's feather falling in the embers.

"I bought the whole thing next door while you two were bickering like a couple of homos," she explained.

"We are a couple of homos," I was about to say, when Blaise squealed, "Darling Pansy, you are a vision!"

"Thank you, Blaise," Pansy said, still preening. "Better make sure that your robes won't clash with mine tonight. Come later, Cormac will rue the day he left me for an Asian!"

And that was how the most offensive conversation of my life went.

11:00pm

We did not see Cormac nor his family, much to Pansy's dismay, but nevertheless, the evening went extremely well.

First, we were photographed by a Daily Prophet photographer who was so taken with Pansy's beauty that he promised to put us three in the front page of the Sunday society section. Not only is this good for my future superstardom and Pansy's campaign to make Cormac jealous, but it will also help bolster Blaise's increasingly shady reputation.

Second, I already have 8 appointments this coming Monday by random people from the street requesting the Rockcoon.

(Note to self: ask Brianna to stock our shelves with hair dye and shower caps)

And, last but not the least, we ran into Hermione while walking past Honeydukes. Upon seeing me, she exclaimed, and I quote:

"Goodness, Malfoy, what have you done to our Harry? He keeps pumping his fist to the sky randomly in the middle of conversation, and his grins are just about splitting his face in half!"

The night would have been perfect, had our encounter simply ended with me knowing that I had something to do with Harry's declining mental stability. However, just as we were parting ways, Blaise chose to unhelpfully contribute the following statement:

"Well,_ our _Draco is currently prone to sweeping in rooms unannounced while singing big band renditions of love songs, thanks to _your _Potter. It wouldn't be so bad, except, they're scheduled to shag tomorrow, see, so I'm afraid things are only going to get worse!"

Dear Diary, is it possible to just _expire_ from mortification?

September 5, Sunday

Right.

I'd spare you the lurid little details, as it is Vincent, and not I, who is the gifted erotica writer in our group.

(By the way, he promises to pen the _"blow-by-blow, pun very much intended, isn't that right, Gregory?"_ account of this morning's, erhm, tryst, and send it to me as an early Christmas gift.)

For posterity's sake, however, here is a slice of the afterglow:

"So, Harry," I said as we were putting our clothes back on, "we've just about polished off the blueberry jam, the chocolate syrup, the maple syrup, the caramel pudding, and the whipped cream. And your cupboard is still full of sugary things. Is this your plan all along, to kill me with diabetes?"

"No, it's to make you fat and therefore, suicidal," Harry deadpanned.

I smothered him with my sweater in response.

"Wow," he said after a violent choking fit, "This is probably a creepy response to your attack, but I think I'm starting to get addicted to the scent of your Weasley Pharmaceuticals antibac soap. And whatever fabric softener it is you're using. Merlin help me."

"It's Magic Breeze." I said nonchalantly, although inside, I'm jumping for joy.

So…there.

I guess I can assume that _both_ Harry and I will notbe walking nor sitting normally for the rest of the week.

And, I guess the black shirt that I wore today is officially out of commission, as Harry's scent is all over it (just salty skin, sweat, and grass—does this boy roll around lawns in his spare time?). It is now stuffed secretly inside my pillowcase for future sniffing, the girl that I am.

And, I may also have to remove the old "Potter Sucks" and "I Hate Gryffindor" posters from my bedroom walls, as I will be expecting the offended company to show up unexpectedly (and in various states of undress) during the whole course of, I hope, my life.

Well, maybe the "Potter Sucks" poster stays, because he does, harhar. Oh, Merlin, he does.

Sigh.

He ruins me every second I think of him.

September 6, Monday

I totally forgot to check yesterday's Sunday society section for my picture!

(I blame this on my post-coital haze.)

Hence, imagine my surprise when I peeked out of the salon for a whiff of fresh air, and saw a block-long line of teenagers, mothers, and, curiously, _goth punks, _all waving their newspapers about, and asking for the Rockcoon!

My success has come to a point wherein I can finally use my long forgotten "Shear Magic only honours appointments" sign!

So proud. So proud.

Night

Pansy's owl is a HOOT, pun intended.

_Draco,_

_First of all, can you please unblock your floo network 24/7 from now on? My owl Declan is close to dying from exhaustion from flying all the way to London at least thrice a week!_

_Second, Cormac contacted me, asking to meet! But I'm not a homewrecking harlot, so I said 'stuff it'. HA!_

_Why haven't I received word about Sunday, by the way? Do remember that it's because of me that you're dating Potter in the first place! I demand DETAILS! DETAILS I SAY!_

To which I replied:

_Pansy,_

_I have a mini coffin that's perfect for Declan, should his dying be as imminent as you make it seem._

_Good for you regarding Cormac! That smug git deserves it. Plus, he's way boring. Why not snag that Daily Prophet photographer who's mooning over you?_

_For Sunday details—we all know I'm emotionally constipated when it comes to writing sensual stuff. Ask Vincent for the lowdown. He's probably penning my romance novel as we speak._

_Draco_


End file.
